Aliens of Our Culture
by SparkRevolutions
Summary: One year after the John Harrison incident, new colonization efforts to rebuild Vulcan culture are becoming closer and closer to reality. However, can the U.S.S. Enterprise handle another loose cannon on board? Not if Commander Spock has any say in the matter. Slight AU. Rated M for mature language and themes. Spock/OC, Jim/Carol, Nyota/Scotty
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of the Star Trek canon characters.**

* * *

She always brought a bottle to the ship's doctor on the first night. It was a sign of respect, and it didn't hurt to kiss the ass of whoever was going to be mending you when you were sick or hurt. Leonard McCoy was a southerner, from Georgia, she assumed that a bottle of Kentucky bourbon would please him just fine. She knocked on the door with intense trepidation, feeling fear of rejection coat her stomach and salivary glands.

"Dr. McCoy?" She asked. The doors slid open automatically and she kicked herself for knocking. _Old habits die hard._

"Who the hell are you?" He snapped, not bothering to look up from his work; it was all medical filing as far as she knew, taking the names of the newest officers and adding them to the system. He finally turned around, turning the holoscreen on the desk off. "Well my, my, my. Who have we got here? And with a bottle of bourbon nonetheless." Despite the uneasy feeling in her stomach, she smiled, displaying mostly white, straight top teeth.

"Lieutenant Lesley Ray. I thought I'd start the mission off with a gift. Seeing as how I'm accident prone and that, you'll probably be seeing a lot of me." She looked at him for a brief second, then to the bottle in her hand, extending it forward. He got up and took the bottle, inspecting it.

"Kentucky bourbon? You don't fuck around Lieutenant. Where you from? I think I hear a little New England in that accent. Come, sit, I'll pour us some drinks." He had gone from abrasive to endearing in a few minutes flat- though Lesley wasn't entirely sure if it was her "All-American Girl" appearance or the promise of an alcoholic beverage. Finally, at ease, she took the seat nearest the desk where he'd been working. "Work's about done for the day, nothing I can't manage unless there's a terrible medical emergency. And someone would have to fuck up pretty bad to get injured on the first night. Could get a demerit for it, even." He mused, taking two glasses out of a drawer. Lesley felt her mouth turn upward into a smile. He was prepared; she'd found another drinker.

"You guessed right, Doctor. Caribou, Maine." He slid a glass across the desk and her smile widened. She downed it with efficiency, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and letting the burn of the alcohol slide down her throat and radiate into her body. "More like bumfuck Maine if I'm being completely honest."

"Don't even get me started on rural areas, Lieutenant. And please, Bones is fine. I grew up on a farm in Georgia. Talk about isolation. Christ."

"Bones?" She inquired, watching him down his drink. "Spare me the formality. Lesley is fine." He looked at her, smirking, and poured another round.

"Cunt of an ex-wife took everything I had in our divorce." Lesley seized at the mention of an ex-wife. The doctor began laughing, a hearty sound that rang through the small office they were in. "Sweetheart, you're a looker but you're too young for me. Took everything I had and left me with my bare bones. A real bitch. I had a daughter and she managed to take her too. I just wonder where it all went wrong sometimes. We were so in love when we met, a beautiful daughter." He shot the bourbon back quickly so the tang would hit his tongue and his stomach, nothing else. "So what about you? You got something fucked up too. I can see it in your eyes."

Lesley sipped the bourbon, tasting it this time and considering how much she should tell him. _Alcohol involved- he may not remember,_ she thought. Then: _Relax. Christ. How many friends do you have right now? Zero. One won't hurt._

"My father was a drug addict." She stated, throwing the rest of the drink down her throat. Bones refilled the cup before she even had a chance to set it back down on the table. Her head was swimming now and her hands felt dangerous, both light and heavy at the same time. "He hurt his back doing construction down to Sherman. Reconstructing the 95 and making it safer for flying cars. Really liked the painkillers. So much so, in fact," Lesley paused before taking another swig. "That he started crushing 'em up and snorting 'em." She looked up at the doctor again, trying to read his face. She often found people looking at her in contempt, or worse, pity, after she told her story. "Mom didn't like it too much. Kicked him out of the house a couple'a times, he always came back though. Last night I ever saw him alive he was having a seizure on the couch."

Bones stared at a spot on his desk, slightly uncomfortable. A heavy yet relatable topic for a night of drinking. He didn't do well with sad drunks. "Shit." He remarked. "That got one of my brothers."

"Enough of that shit." Lesley said suddenly. "You into music?" Bones roared with laughter once again. Her face lit up into a winning smile. "20th century. Newer shit all sounds the same. Like computers fucking."

"Pick something good for me, missy." Bones said, throwing Lesley a PADD, and she sifted through the songs until finding something she liked. "Jim's gonna have a conniption fit once he finds out there's someone else here who jives like he does."

"Who the fuck is Jim?" Lesley asked, looking up at Bones.

"Captain."

"Oops." She remarked, barely aware of the faux-pas. Bones merely giggled.

"I think you're gonna fit in well here. Trust me, Jim wouldn't mind. On the shuttle to the Academy I shared a flask with him." Bones assured her, to which she smiled. "Only one I'd say to watch out for is the Commander. He's a real piece of work."

"A wicked pisser, eh?"

"I like that expression. Maine vernacular, I'm guessing." Bones nodded, pouring yet another round. "His lady recently left him for a Scottish engineer after there was a falling out over the Harrison incident- you have to have heard about that."

Lesley leaned back in her chair. "Ayuh." The bourbon was swirling steadily in the glass, making a small whirlpool.

"Scotty had a bit of a falling out with Jim over the missiles. The Commander's girl, Nyota, left with him. Said she couldn't take how pedantic and 'emotionally unavailable' he was. Don't blame her, personally. He may be half-human but he's a Vulcan through and through to me, at least."

 _Fuck._ Lesley's mind raced. The room was spinning. She threw the drink back. Only one remedy for this.

"You mind if I smoke?" She asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. "Old habits die hard." An echo of the thought she had upon knocking.

"Oh hell, I didn't know that was a thing anymore. You weren't kidding about bumfuck Maine." This caused Lesley to erupt in a fit of laughter. "Fine by me, nothing in here that can be tampered with by cigarette smoke as far as I know. Spot me one while you're at it. Haven't had one since before I was married." She slid one of the cigarettes out of the case and handed it over, he plucked it delicately from the pack and arranged it jauntily in his mouth.

"One thing I do know, Bones. No matter how far we boldly go, the Philip Morris company is always gonna be taking money from suckers like me." She put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it, inhaling. The first cigarette since coming on this mission. Usually she had to hide in her bathroom. She slid the lighter across the table to him. He lit up, inhaled, and exhaled almost immediately, going into a coughing fit.

"Fucking Christ. And you make it look so elegant." He said in between gasps for air.

"Why thank you dearest Doctor Leonard McCoy." She responded in a mock high-society accent, sending them both into fits of laughter. She blew the smoke up into a grey plume above her head. Fuck. The room was still spinning.

Half a cigarette later, the doors slid open.

"Dr. McCoy! Lieutenant Ray! It has been made clear that smoking is prohibited on this starship."

"Fuck," McCoy muttered under his breath. He crushed the cigarette out on his desk. Lesley looked to the source of the noise, blowing smoke out of her nose. A tall, foreboding Vulcan with dark looks and a disapproving expression. She guessed who it was almost immediately, but her words tumbled out too quickly to control.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Bones gave her a slap on the arm. "That's the Commander, shut the fuck up!" He hissed, and she looked from him to the Vulcan helplessly, silently, trying to find adequate words.

"Drinking alcohol is also prohibited, as this appears to be not a synthehol-based substance. Lieutenant Ray, that will be one demerit." The Commander said, and Lesley couldn't help but hear his voice as nauseatingly booming. She sighed, attempting to get up and take an exit, but fell back into her chair.

"One demerit for highly unprofessional behavior in a professional context." The Commander repeated. "It would be for the best if you left for your quarters and saw me in the morning to receive your written warning, Lieutenant Ray."

"I don't think she can get up, Spock." Bones muttered; Lesley had fallen into her own lap.

"Lieutenant Ray, I will escort you to your quarters." Spock informed her and grabbed her arm, dragging her upwards. It took her nearly a full minute to regain her balance. "Dr. McCoy, I will oversee this on your part, as you are essential to our mission.

"If you're gonna _fuck_ me that hard at least take me to dinner first." Lesley slurred as Spock dragged her out the door.

"I am also willing to overlook that comment on the condition that no more will be made."

"Whatever." She replied, pouting. _A real wicked pisser indeed._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to my beta reader HeartofFyrwinde for assisting with this chapter!**

* * *

"I just don't think it's fair." Lesley folded her arms and leaned back in her seat, directly across from Commander Spock. Her head was pounding and he stomach was doing somersaults. The room was much too bright and sleek, almost surreal in its ultra-white cleanliness. She could smell the reek of alcohol wafting off of her. It was seeping out through her pores; no matter how many showers she took she'd just have to sweat it out. She was sure he could smell it on her too.

"Lieutenant Ray, it is not fair or unfair. It simply exists." He responded, entering her information onto a holoscreen. "Starfleet has a strict five demerit policy, and if you accrue five you will be demoted to Ensign-"

"I _know._ " She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Then, mildly: "I'm sorry Commander. I'm feeling rather poorly." _And it's your own damn fault, too, Lesley. Good job. Fucking up on the first real day._ "Could you at least tell me _why_ Doctor McCoy received no reprimand?"

"Doctor McCoy is essential to our mission." He didn't even look at her as he typed. She sighed, placing her hands on her thighs, splaying the fingers out. _This asshole is gonna test my patience._

"I know bullshit when I smell it, Commander Spock, and I'm getting a mighty strong whiff." He finally looked at her, her eyebrows raised expectantly. His stare was harsh and piercing in its judgment. She looked down, picking at her nails.

"I do not think you would like to earn yourself another demerit, Lieutenant Ray. It is advantageous to you to be affable, especially since you will be working under my close supervision."

Lesley would've started throwing things if he wouldn't have threatened her with another demerit. _How fucking dare he. 'Under my close supervision.' As if Starfleet didn't fucking assign me here themselves. As if Admiral Pike didn't even know who I am._ She took a moment to ground herself, noticing for the first time how regal the man sitting in front of her looked. It was both intimidating and infuriating at the same time. She hated how the bright lights fell into the hollows of his cheekbones, how his coal-black lashes dipped to the tender area under his eye as he blinked; the sheen and gloss of his hair and the way it fell over his pointed ears-

 _Fucking relax. He has the capacity to completely ruin your military career- a chance he is definitely willing to take- and you're sitting here drooling over him. Unfuckingbelievable._

"Lieutenant Ray!"

She was snapped out of the little trance to the sight of Commander Spock staring daggers at her. _How long did I 'clock-out' for?_

"Sorry, Commander." She replied meekly. If that wouldn't please him, nothing would. His demeanor seemed to slacken at her politeness, which she took as a decent sign.

"Please step up to the holoscreen and sign your reprimand." Spock watched her consider it for approximately two point eight seconds, then cross the room. She signed the screen with her finger, turned on her heel, and exited.

Lesley walked back to her laboratory. First day, and already a demerit. She'd have to keep a low profile for the next few weeks if she wanted to be successful and see her research through. As she approached the doors, her dismay heightened. Loud 20th century swing music drifted through as they opened, she could make out the drifting shapes of two dancers- one man in a yellow command shirt and a woman in a sleeveless blue science dress. They were two blondes, the man was towheaded and the woman platinum. Lesley took a moment to admire the dance; she'd grown up watching Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and though this couple was a far cry from the aforementioned pair, the woman seemed to be better than the man. Her movements were sharp, she was sure of every step and even added some spins when she could. They seemed so in sync with each other, so in love. All of a sudden, Lesley felt completely hollow. Something she was so sure she could never achieve, laid out right in front of her for her viewing pleasure.

"Nice moves." She said, charmed, raising her creaky hangover voice over the music, nodding in time to the beat. "Brings back some good memories of mine." Her voice sounded like shoes crunching on dead leaves, and she cringed at herself. They stopped abruptly. The man stuck out his hand as he walked over to her, catching hers in a firm handshake.

"Captain James Tiberius Kirk, but you can call me Jim. This here is Carol Marcus, one of our best physicists. Bones told me to meet you before we got any serious shit underway. Said we got a lot of common interests, like drinking and music." _Marcus._ Lesley knew that name from the Harrison incident.

"Maybe tell your Commander about these common interests, Captain, and he'll stop giving me demerits." Lesley countered, her dry tone giving way to a winning smile. The pain in her head was exquisite. Jim and Carol laughed.

"I heard about that," He said, shaking his head. "Can't disagree. Only wonder why Bones didn't get a punishment as well. Something's definitely up with him. I'm kind of worried. Might be his _time._ Regardless, I'm going to have a word with him."

"Could be, but I think he hates women." The pretty blonde in the science uniform interjected. "I wouldn't let him get away with it, Lieutenant. If I were you I'd go straight to Starfleet about it." Jim laughed in response, and Carol shot him a withering look. Lesley took a moment to admire the precise and crisp British accent in which she spoke.

"And admit to Starfleet I smuggled alcohol onto their Flagship? Not to insult, Dr. Marcus." Lesley said, squeezing her eyes shut to get rid of the light. "Bones told me all about his lady troubles. Don't see how he'd view me as a threat."

"You know how men are- and please, just Carol. They get burned by one and all of a sudden the whole sex is evil. Valid point, Lieutenant."

"Ayuh. If I'm gonna call you Carol, you're gonna call me Lesley."

"Deal," Carol replied, her face lighting up. Jim smiled at the interaction. It was difficult for many women to find friends in Starfleet, he'd noticed; internalized competition often kept them rather catty.

"Two hot blondes getting in good on my Starship. My lucky day." He said, and Carol gave him a knowing look before a cascade of laughter left her mouth. Jim lived for that sound.

"You only wish!" Carol said in between giggles, giving him a wicked pinch on the bottom. "Besides, Lesley's far too busy with the Commander. Right?" Lesley opened her mouth momentarily in shock, then processed the joke.

"The amount of bullshit from him I have to deal with so far, we might as well be fucking married. It's a great life, he occasionally pays attention to me when he ain't busy jerking off to the Law of Modus Tollens."

Carol shrieked and Jim chortled.

"You're evil!"

"Hell, if I was evil I'd get more shit done." Lesley responded, cackling softly. "Better start work. Briefing with the Vulcan High Council is tomorrow and I've already made a bad impression on the Ambassador's son. I'll have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously."

"Don't worry, Carol and I have to get to work soon too. We'll leave you to it." Jim said, starting toward the door, leaving the swing music on. Lesley only smiled, watching them leave.

After the doors closed, Lesley opened up her holoscreen and prepared her notes. A deep sense of foreboding began to tie knots in her muscles.

"I've made a huge mistake." She muttered, opening up her documents.


	3. Chapter 3

"Commander, I've looked at her medical file. A year of emergency psychiatric and medical care on the Intrepid. It wasn't fucking fair to her to get that demerit. Lord knows I'd get absolutely wasted too if I had to step foot in a starship after all the shit she's been through." Bones couldn't stop his face from setting into a stern glare as he regarded the Vulcan.

"Doctor McCoy, past behaviors explain actions. They do not excuse them." Spock responded, pressing the shiny chrome button to lower the turbo lift. "Lieutenant Ray's actions on the first night of the mission were inexcusable. Do not keep pressing the matter."

"I'm not pressing the matter!" McCoy retorted. His volume was edging closer and closer to a yell. "I'm just saying that you abused your power to give that poor girl a demerit because you're mad that Nyota- "

Spock shot him something akin to glare, seemingly one of his only expressions since the mission started.

"The demerit I gave Lieutenant Ray has nothing to do with the state of the relationship between Lieutenant Uhura and I." He retorted. Bones whistled at the venom with which the Commander spoke.

"You're still calling it a relationship? That's mighty funny, Commander. Especially since she left you and all." McCoy couldn't help it at this point. Anything to get under the Commander's skin. He looked at Spock expectantly eyebrows raised. The Vulcan clenched his fists.

 _Do not let him get the best of you. He is appealing to past emotion in order to elicit a response. It is a common human manipulation tactic._

"I fail to see how that has anything to do with Lieutenant Ray's demerit. Please do not stray from the subject at hand." The turbo lift doors opened, revealing the person in question.

"Speak of the devil." Bones muttered. "Mornin' Lesley." She was in her grey dress uniform with peaked cap as they all were; her wheaten hair twisted into an elegant chignon underneath. A trace of scarlet peaked her cheeks. She knew they had been talking about her. She'd always been receptive to those types of things.

"Lieutenant Ray." The Commander said coldly.

"Commander Spock." She replied, matching his tone.

Bones tried not to voice an opinion. Tense is the best word to describe it, he thought.

The ride to the bridge was completely silent.

Lesley had dreaded this day since her first night on the mission. All it would be was a painful reminder of her past, how she had failed Starfleet, how she had failed the Vulcan culture as a whole.

 _"There was nothing you could've done." Dr. Moore told her. Lesley refused to look up, instead focusing on the Starfleet emblem of her smock. "You're lucky we found you. You were half-dead."_

 _"Yeah, but does that really matter in the larger scheme of things?" Lesley finally faced the psychologist. "I fucking failed an entire culture. I fucking failed at what I was educated to do."_

 _"Lesley, what happened was not your fault. You need to take a step back and be rational."_

A chill ran down her spine as she took a seat near the perimeter. _You can't fall apart in front of them, Lesley._ She reminded herself. They won't understand. _It is what it is at this point. You can't erase it, as much as you'd like to._

"Lieutenant Hannity, start the communications signal." Jim was sitting the Captain's chair, with Spock at his right hand. Lesley saw him out of the corner of her, feeling her lower eyelid begin to twitch. Fuck. Fuck. She began to blink in rapid succession, finally stopping once the signal caught. The members of the Vulcan High Council appeared on-screen, solemn and stoic as ever. Nausea began in the pit of her stomach. Get ahold of yourself.

"Greetings, Captain Kirk." Sarek began, saluting the bridge. "It is an honor to be conversing with you again."

"Good morning, Ambassador Sarek." Jim responded, saluting back. The bridge followed suit; Lesley merely felt her hand go into formation. Dissociation. Fuck. This was going to be bad. "In response to your request for colonization efforts, we are currently searching for planets capable of sustaining Vulcan life. To assist in this matter, we have installed Lieutenant Lesley Ray as our exoanthropology and exoarchaeology officer. Her thesis on Vulcan material culture is considered to be one of the most thorough and objective that the Starfleet Academy has produced, as well as her previous work during the conflict with the Narada. Lieutenant Ray," Jim looked over to her, his eyes twinkling in pride. "You have the floor."

"Greetings, Ambassador Sarek. Let me say that it is a privilege to be in your presence. As the exoanthropology and exoarchaeology officer I look forward to assisting the crew of the Enterprise in finding a planet that will not only be physiologically comfortable for your people, but culturally comfortable as well." Lesley didn't even recognize her voice as her own; there were only surprisingly even words accompanying the movements her mouth was making. "To ensure the comfort of your species, I will be conducting interviews with the High Council monthly and Commander Spock on a weekly basis. It is my firm belief that we should not only rely on physiological assumption, but rather cultural experience in order to find a suitable colonization prospect. The interviews will be recorded and available in Starfleet's server, but available at the request of the High Council, and later transcribed placed in a public ethnography to preserve the Vulcan culture and all of its aspects." She looked at the screen for a response. Ambassador Sarek's face remained a stony mask.

"An idea most promising, Lieutenant Ray. The Vulcan High Council would also like to thank you for your courageous effort to recover five Vulcan children during the destruction, although the mission did not come to pass. Captain Kirk, we have matters to discuss for navigation…"

 _Oh fuck._ Lesley felt herself completely 'clock-out' as she called it; her soul seemed to be leaving her body. The only reality now was memory.

 _"We need someone to go get those five children." The bridge of the Farragut was silent; uneasy. Everyone had accepted the inevitable. They were all going to die._

 _"I'll go."_

 _Everyone turned to her._

 _"Ensign Ray. You've been trained with the environmental? The electricity has failed on half of the ship. We only have beaming capacity for one trip."_

 _"Yes." She responded, shaking. If she was going to die, she was going to die a hero._

 _"Suit up. Get the kids and we'll beam your ass back up here if you're lucky."_

 _Lesley nodded, pulling on the EV suit._

 _"It's a model with thrusters. If anything- I mean anything- happens, you get as far away as possible and send a ping. There aren't enough A & A officers already."_

 _Alarms began to go off, and the bridge was bathed in red light._

 _"Fuck!" The captain screamed, pushing her through the airlock. "There's not enough time! Get out get out get out!" The door to the bridge closed, and the one to deep space opened. Lesley activated the thrusters, turning around to see a large missile heading right for the Farragut. Lesly screamed; filling her helmet with sound as she drifted farther and farther away. The Farragut exploded soundlessly and she was pelted with shrapnel. She drifted as far as the thrusters would take her, into the blackness beyond._

 _Pure fear seized her. There was absolutely nothing for light-years. This was more than deep-woods Maine isolation. This was the nothingness of space, the void of a vacuum. She checked her resource levels on her visor's holoscreen. Three days of oxygen, food, and water. Only three days. Power levels at 80%. To be expected, with the shrapnel damage. Heating was at 75% and steadily dropping. Positioning system at 50%._

 _"Fuck." She said to herself, and sent out a ping signaling nearby starships to her location. There was nothing to do but wait and monitor her diminishing resources._

 _Heat ran down to 60% on day two of floating free in deep space. Her breath kept a constant fog on her visor. The navigation pane on the visor said the Intrepid was nearing, and would approach sometime in the next 30 hours. Heat levels were beginning to drop. She turned off the holoscreen to preserve power._

 _Day 3 approached, and Lesley shivered as her consciousness waned and waxed._

 _"I'm dying," she heard herself say; the cold vacuum of space did not respond. She looked out to the stars. On Earth, they had always inspired her. Here, they were eyes burning with accusation._

 _10 hours had passed; still no sign of rescue. They would recover her body at least._

 _Then, suddenly, there was a glint in the distance. A ship._

 _Lesley summoned her strength. The visor's navigation pane flickered in and out. The suit wasn't going to protect her much longer. She sent out another ping, watching her heat levels drop to 50%._

 _The last thing Lesley remembered clearly seeing was the ship approaching; she was in a delirious state, silently marveling about how big it was._

 _"It's so beautiful," she whispered, slipping out of consciousness._

"Lieutenant Ray."

Lesley looked up, broken out of her trance. She was shivering, much to her dismay. Commander Spock was looking down at her, almost in something like concern.

"Sorry Commander."

"The meeting is over. You are free to return to your laboratory or your quarters."

"Thank you, Commander." She said, robotically, willing herself to stop shivering, and getting up, returning to her quarters.

 _Fuck it,_ she thought, moving easily through her quarters and turning on the holoscreen. She selected _I Love Lucy_ from her selection. She turned up the volume, going to her closet. First order of business: changing out of the stuffy dress uniform. _And the second,_ she thought, looking optimistically up at the top shelf of the closet, behind her extra boots at three bottles of wine, _is getting so fucked up that I pass out._

"Spock," Jim regarded his first officer carefully as the Vulcan attempted to exit the bridge, pulling him into the ready-room. "I wanna talk to you. You've been downright venomous lately- especially to Lieutenant Ray."

"I do not believe I have been." Spock stated calmly, started out of the ready-room. Jim grabbed his arm to stop him. Spock snapped his head back, looking straight at Jim.

"You see what I mean? This is absolutely not like you. If you wanna be a shit, go lay in the yard. But we're on my starship, and here we treat entering crew like family to ensure loyalty. I don't know what's going on, and I want to make this not so rough, for either you or her." Jim looked at the Commander with an open, honest face.

"I do not know what you are talking about." Spock narrowed his eyes minutely.  
"You're doing it right now." Jim countered.

"I do not believe I am doing anything malicious, Captain Kirk."

"Well whatever it is, don't take it out on the poor girl. She may have deserved that demerit for smoking, but Jesus H. Christ, don't put her through the wringer. She's been through enough already."

"The wringer?" Spock inquired. Jim sighed, letting go of his first officer. Sometimes he forgot the Vulcan wasn't familiar with slang.

"Don't upset her so much. You gave her a rough start and she was already dealt a shitty hand." Jim said, and exited the ready-room. "Maybe the demerit was justified, but you should at least consider an apology for how you treated her. Even Bones was shocked and he's a real rough-and-tumble bastard."

Jim headed back to his quarters as soon as the day shift was over; he wanted to see Carol. Even throughout the meeting, it felt too long without being by her side.

"Jim!" He heard her voice, and he turned right to the source. This wasn't her usual happy greeting. This was filled with urgency. "Help me get her to sickbay!"

He saw Carol with an unconscious Lesley over her shoulder, half-carrying and half-dragging the woman down the hallway. It would be comical if the sense of emergency wasn't present: Carol was rather petite, around five-foot-five, Lesley towered over her at five-ten.

"What happened?" He asked, crouching to push his shoulder into Lesley's armpit and assist Carol.

"Look at the four wine bottles on the floor to her quarters and you tell me, Jim. Alcohol poisoning."


End file.
